


Preparedness

by bluths



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 01:57:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluths/pseuds/bluths
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam has a deadly secret and addiction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. preparedness part 1

They say the razor solves nothing, cutting and gleaming, trickling with the thick red, blood from the struggling person’s wrist. They ask you what good it does for you, really. What you are really trying to solve, they ask. They are demanding, they don’t waste any time to make sure you’re really okay, they just pull you into the psych ward. They claim you need to be under intense supervision, they claim you’re not normal. And all of their claims seem to make you lose sight of yourself, who are you really? The gauze wrapped tightly around your aching wrists, eyes struggling to adjust to the bright white that surrounds you This is your life, now, you realize, you’re truly fucked up.

The nurses ask you how you could be so selfish; ask how you could hurt your family like that. You shake your head, you reply, genuinely with tears in your eyes that it was just a mistake. It was foolish and you were sorry you ever tried. When the truth was, all you wanted to do was die. You wanted to sleep, forever, never wake up. You knew it would hurt the people around you, but you were too distraught to even begin to understand that. Of course they’d be better off without you; mum wouldn’t have to pay so much money on your medication. She wouldn’t be dirt poor anymore because you were a psychopath that couldn’t put the razor down.

You wonder to yourself, how on earth are they allowed to say this to someone they’re trying to help? You lay in fetal position, curling your knobby knees against your chest, heaving a heavy sob into them, tears trickling down each side of your face. It wasn’t meant to be like this, you promised, you didn’t mean to make your mother cry. You hadn’t meant for things to go so awry, and you wish they’d just let you be. You wish they’d just let you die, and then they’d be rid of you, finally. It was as if all of your anxieties were taken on by the whole family. It’s unfair, and you know it is, but you can’t stop asking for more. More attention, more love, you want it and you need it. You crave it. Every human wanted attention, yes, but did you really deserve it? Did you really deserve all the love and the help?

You began to question your self-worth. Were you really worth fighting for? Were you worth being alive? What was God’s big special plan for you then? Cure cancer? Make some big break in the stem-cell research project? There was an endless list of things you could have accomplished by now, and all you’ve managed to do is fuck up. How could you let your family down like this, how could you be so fucking stupid? You shake your head, trying to make the thoughts escape. You yell out in anguish, smacking your hands against the side of your face, begging for someone to make it stop.

Nurses rush forward, grabbing you by the palms, trying to force you up.

“Stay with us, Liam!” They yell out in anguish.

You feel your heartbeat getting slower, it’s harder for the blood to pump throughout your body. It’s almost as if time stops. Your yells grow louder; almost turn into scream as you thrash your body wildly. You are hitting a hard surface with your hands; you realize that you’re on the floor. You don’t know how you got there; all you know is that you are reaching for the gauze on your wrists, trying to force it off of you. You just have to get one more cut, one more ache, you just want to feel real again. The sting of the sharp razor was the only thing that could really bring you to your senses, jolt you and fulfill you. You felt sick at the blood pooling almost neatly on the floor beside you, and now, you’re in a hospital. And then you realize at this point that you aren’t normal, not in the slightest bit.

When Liam wakes up, he’s horrified; he quickly fumbles for the switch on the lap on the table next to him. He realizes it’s just a dream as he feels around beside him for Zayn’s warm, breathing body. It’s a comfort to him that Zayn remains in a steadfast sleep, completely unaware to his boyfriend’s minor panic attack. He adjusted his eyes to the sudden light, looking his wrists up and down, the faint hit of white, pale scars still etched into his skin. They wouldn’t go away, they were permanent, a permanent reminder of that fateful trip to the hospital. A reminder of the pain that he had not only caused himself but his family, his biggest regret.

He slowly edged his way to the bathroom, eyes still full of sleep and only half opening. He felt around until he felt the cold, silver door handle. He opened the door and quickly pushed it shut, slumping against it, breathing in and out. He reached to the sink, flicking the cold water on his face. He walked towards the shower, pushing back the shower curtains. He was searching for something, it was almost automatic, and what was he looking for? When he spotted the five little blades on the light blue plastic, he smirked a bit to himself. Ah, that’s what he was looking for.

He picked up the razor and looked at it like he was missing an old friend, and he sat down on the closed toilet lid. He rolled up the legs of his sweat pants to his thighs. He braced himself for the sting, for the pain that would always bring him pleasure in the end. He sucked in a breath as the metal touched his skin, brushing with friction over the fine hairs. The blood trickled out of the cut, split into five little sections. He sighed a breath of relief once the blood pooled even deeper, more red, and it was almost like little rose buds were being thrown all over his legs.

That was the second time Liam had cut since he was with Zayn, and he wanted to say that he was okay, he wanted to say that he was normal. But Zayn had no idea that he even had issues with cutting himself. No one knew, really, but Louis. But it wasn’t by choice that Louis had found out, it was all a mistake, really, a unfortunate and awkward mistake.

They were changing together, laughing at something or the other, getting ready to get into their stage outfits. Louis stopped laughing suddenly, and Liam didn’t bother to ask him why, and he didn’t even realize exactly what Louis was gesturing at, at first.

“Liam,” Louis gulped his voice cautious. “What’s that…on your leg?”

Liam licked his dry lips, his throat grew hollow, and he glanced down at his thigh. The cut looked worse than it actually was, pink and raw. The skin was almost gone completely, and it looked horrifying. He hadn’t realized it was that deep, it had felt so good, and he lost control of himself.

“It’s, it’s just nothing, really,” Liam replied, his voice was anxious and a little high-pitched. It was the stupidest lie he had ever told.

“Don’t tell me that’s not anything,” Louis shook his head at Liam, finger pointing at his thigh. “Why did you do that, Liam? Are you okay?”

“I don’t really want to talk about this,” Liam told him evenly, which was half true. “It’s just…you don’t need to bother.”

“But I care about you,” Louis argued, his voice cracking with sorrow. “Why are you hurting yourself, Liam? What happened to you?”

“Please, Lou,” Liam closed his eyes, breathing out and trying not to look at Louis’s crushed face.

Louis pulled him into a slow hug, and Liam allowed himself to collapse into his arms. He breathed hot and heavy into Lou’s shirt, soaking it with his slobber and tears. He didn’t mind, though, he just kept holding onto Liam tightly, slowly rubbing his back and telling him it was okay. He told him he loved him.

Finally, when Louis got the courage to speak again he asked, “Does Zayn know?”

“No,” Liam’s voice caught. “I can’t...tell him. Please, Lou, please don’t say anything. I don’t need him thinking I’m a psycho.”

“Liam, he loves you, why the hell would he think something like that?” Louis inquired.

“Everyone does,” Liam replied cryptically, turning away from Louis.

The room grew deadly silent, and the boys continued to get dressed, forgetting that they just stood there in their underwear. Liam hissed with pain as the tight denim rubbed against his raw cut. He remembered why he didn’t like cutting on his legs, the searing pain each and every time he would move in the tight, restricting denim was almost mind blowing. He turned to face Louis again, trying to notice if he still looked at Liam the same. He couldn’t lose Louis; everyone that had ever found out about his cutting had left him. Desperate with the ambition to fix him, or annoyed at his ‘attention seeking behavior’. He couldn’t win either way; he didn’t want sympathy or aggravation. Liam only wanted acceptance.

“I don’t,” Louis spoke finally, and he sounded sincere. “I would never think that about you, Liam. I love you.”

They were being called, an angry pound on the door by Paul signaling that it was time for them to go warm-up. They tossed a look at each other, speaking through their eyes. Liam knew that Louis was going to tell no one, that was just Louis. He never told a soul, he was just a deep pool of secrets. You could sink all you wanted on him, but it would just float straight to the bottom. He’d never share anything.

The third time he cuts, he doesn’t want it in an obvious place, he needs it somewhere easier to hide. He obviously can’t really do it on his thighs, and he can’t on his chest. He’s running out of options, and he’s growing desperate. He usually can keep himself busy, usually too wore down from the non-stop touring and movement. But ever since the terrifying dream Liam had, reminding him all too well why he was even here. His mother had made him audition for the X Factor, insisting that he needed a healthy outlet, and he could sing. OF course, it had all panned out, and now Liam was in one of the most famous bands the world had ever seen. But the dream reminded him all too well of how messed up he really was, reminding him why he wasn’t worthy of all these friends or success.

He was shaking as he slid the razor across his stomach, slicing even deeper than his thigh. The skin was smooth and easily pushed apart. There was no friction, only the blades sinking deeper and deeper into his skin. He felt sick as he watched the blood spill; he nervously grabbed a towel, wondering where on earth he could hide it. He knew that if Louis would find it he’d tell all of them, or maybe he’d silently judge him. He could always write it off as a nose bleed, but he urgently shoved it below the sink. He decided that the hotel maids could take care of it.  

The worst part of it was kissing Zayn, how Zayn would rub him all over and he was heedless of Liam’s cuts, and would just brush his rough firm hands across them. Liam would always wince and pull Zayn away, insisting that he wasn’t ready. He hadn’t ever been with a guy before, that much was true; however, he and Zayn had been dating for fifteen months, fifteen wonderful, blissful months. Liam couldn’t bring himself to do anything as far as head with Zayn, and Zayn would always smile and pat him lightly on the chest, resting his head there and playing with Liam’s tiny hairs. He would comfort him, tell him it was okay, and Liam believed him, he always believed in everything Zayn said because it sounded so good.

Zayn was a bit drunk, he was a bit forceful, which any other night would have been a complete and utter turn on to Liam on any other night. But he was struggling not to whine out loud at the pain that Zayn was indirectly causing him. His thighs rubbing against Liam’s scabbed ones, multiplying with cuts as the days dragged on. Zayn rubbed at his stomach over his shirt, catching the spot right where Liam had slid the razor. And Zayn only prevailed further, taking Liam’s moans of pain as moans of pleasure and encouragement.

“I can’t,” Liam gasped suddenly, tugging himself away from Zayn frantically.

Zayn’s eyes flashed wide with worry, “Babe, I didn’t mean to…Was it too much?”

“No, no,” Liam answered him quickly, his eyes reassuring. “No, you didn’t do anything. I’m just, I’m really sore, for some reason. You know, I mean, we’ve been running around on stage, it kind of sucks the life out of you.”

“Most exercise you’ve had in a while, Payne,” Zayn charged, raising his eyebrows mockingly.

Liam laughed, the tightening of his abs hurting his aching, sore stomach, “I love you.”

“I love  _you_ ,” Zayn retorted, rolling on his stomach and gazing up at Liam with begging eyes. “You can talk to me, you know.”

Liam sank down on his knees and pressed his lips gently to Zayn’s forehead, “I know.”

“Am I ever gonna really figure you out, Liam?” Zayn asked, his voice sounded hurt and confused.

Liam was taken aback by his blunt question, and he sighed as he leaned his forehead against Zayn’s cheek, fighting an internal battle with himself on what exactly he should say. He couldn’t be too harsh or nonchalant. But he was no good at hiding these things from Zayn sometimes, and he had to prepare himself.

“You know me well enough,” he whispered warmly into Zayn’s ear. “Besides, I like to keep you on your toes.”

Zayn smiled faintly, his fingers trailing over the outside of Liam’s cheek bones, tracing patterns and causing goose bumps to arise all up and down Liam’s body. He kissed Liam softly, and it was almost as if he were begging him. Liam didn’t know what Zayn wanted from him at this point, the truth? Sex?  Surely he couldn’t even be that shallow. He wasn’t ready, he needed to prepare. It was all about preparing himself. And he really wondered if Zayn was prepared to disagree, if Zayn was prepared for Liam at all.

“I always liked that about you, best,” Zayn murmured softly, eyes blinking lazily.

Liam joined Zayn upon the bed, tracing his eyelashes, counting each one. He loved touching Zayn, being close to him and feeling his heartbeat. It was beautiful to him that someone could love him this much, frightening, but also fulfilling. He ran his finger up and down Zayn’s jawline, feeling it pop up and down as he talked in a soft drawl. When Zayn finally dozed off, Liam grabbed a quilt off the floor and carefully pulled it around Zayn’s resting body. He smiled down upon him, wondering how he had gotten someone quite this perfect.

But two hours later he was questioning himself again, doubts flooding his head. His blood piled on the marbled floor as he lay there crying, looking at the deep cut he had made upon his wrist. Just another one to add to the collection, more memories of how much of a fuck up he truly was. It was like he was never truly satisfied. Something better always seemed to happen to someone else. Someone always came to suck out his happiness, something worse, always.

“Are you still hurting yourself?” Louis asked him quietly one day over lunch, the two were sitting alone at a small table secluded from the rest of the boys as they all ate together, laughing and talking excitedly.

“Sometimes,” Liam admitted.

“Let me see,” Louis urged.

Liam’s eyes widened, “Are you daft? I can’t just show you them right now, not with all the lads here. I don’t want them to see me like this.”

“Did it ever occur to you that they might just find out whether you want them to or not? You can’t be in control of them, Liam. They’ll find out, and what are you going to do then?”

“I don’t know,” Liam slumped in defeat. “I don’t know what to do about any of this.”

“Maybe you need to see someone,” Louis suggested.

Liam looked at him darkly, his eyebrows buried as deep down on his face as they would go, “I’m not going to let them fuck me up again.”

Louis leaned forward, his eyes scanning Liam’s face and his voice was soft and encouraging, “What did they do, Liam?”

Liam told him all of it, how they had beaten him mercilessly, trying to force him to stay calm. How they would sedate him each time he had a panic attack, how they’d shove a tube down his throat to make him eat. They didn’t really care about his recovery, they just wanted him to shut the fuck up and brush the dirt off his shoulder and walk on.

“If only it were that easy,” Louis shook his head.

Liam continued, telling him that no one in his family would believe him. His mother insisted that he was very ill and that he needed help and that they were trying to help him. But Liam only felt worse, only wanted to hurt himself even more. He wasn’t even allowed to shower alone. They were too fearful that he would try and cut himself for the fourth or fifth time. When they had enough of him they sent him home. They gave him some meds to keep his anxiety down, maybe keep his suicidal thoughts away. But they never really left; they were just buried beneath the surface that no one could see. There was this side to Liam that was as dark as an abandoned alley at night. He just couldn’t smile, and his heart would ache and his chest would heave, and he couldn’t bring himself to be happy.

“But we won’t let that happen this time,” Louis reassured him. “I want to help you.”

“You can’t,” Liam replied simply.

“Don’t give up on yourself,” Louis retorted, his tone a little harsh. “You know you’re better than that.”

Liam stood up and looked at Louis for a minute or two before replying, “I’m not sure who I am anymore, Lou.”

That night as he was about to take a shower, he was overwhelmed with his feelings. He was disappointed in himself for revealing his big secret to Louis. How could he sit there and tell Louis, but not Zayn, the one that cared the most. He was his boyfriend, and he began to panic, scared that if Louis ever told Zayn what Zayn would do. Would he demand to know why Liam was keeping secrets? Would he break up with him? Would he finally be fed up, secretly hating Liam’s random mood swings, and just take off?

The sting brought Liam from his thoughts, his hands shaking as he scraped the razor across his wrist. The blood leaked out faster this time, and he grew dizzy. Things seemed to slow down again, to stop, and he felt like he was at the hospital all over again. The next thing he felt was the smooth linoleum beneath his throbbing head, his wrist still spilling out his blood. He thinks  _this is it_  as his eyelids close and fold over his eyes.

When he comes to, he’s being shaken awake by firm hands; the voice is urgent and pleading. The voice is Zayn. He looks up and sees Zayn sobbing uncontrollably shaking Liam forcefully, begging for him to wake up. When Liam opens his eyes Zayn is overcome with relief and pulls Liam to his chest with shaking arms. Liam has a towel wrapped around his wrist, and he asks Zayn what happened.

“You tell me,” Zayn asked in a wet voice, sniffing in between heaving breaths. “Why did you do that, Li? What’s so bad? Why can’t you talk to me?”

“Don’t,” Liam pleaded as a tear trickled down his cheek. “This hurts me too.”

He pressed his lips to Liam’s wet forehead and pulled him even closer, his entire body consuming Liam, “I love you, baby. Please don’t go.”

Liam replied into Zayn’s shoulder, his voice regaining some of its strength. “Don’t worry. I’ll get better, for you, for us.”

 


	2. preparedness part 2

The worst part of admitting that you had a problem was that now people looked at you differently. It was a horrible, sinking feeling, keeping it to yourself. Almost suffocating, even. But you were in your own protective, jaded bubble and no one could even tell something was wrong. That is, if you were good enough at faking it. You always had to be good at faking. Every single smile was etched into your face, it wouldn’t just come naturally, and you had to practice. It hurt your face to smile, and it broke your heart to smile. It just wasn’t real.   And it was some sort of sinking relief to find out that you actually  _did_  have a problem. That it wasn’t just imaginary and you really true were fucked up. But, then again, reality had to sink in. And you realize,  _you have a problem_.

The worst part of everything in all of this was that Zayn no longer looked at Liam the same. He was careful when touching him, and hesitant in speaking. He was never careful with Liam before and it was almost refreshing. Everyone in his life seemed to always treat him like some kind of charity case since he had reached high fame. Zayn and the rest of the boys were the only ones that treated him with some type of normalcy.  But now it felt like it was all fake, the kindness, the favors, the constant badgering if he was alright. Zayn only seemed to care because he was forced to care, and he was certain that Louis had told Zayn that he knew. The two would speak in urgent whispers to one another, quickly pull away from one another and smile at Liam as he drew nearer.

Liam took initiative one day, and he strolled up to Louis and spoke bitterly, “I thought I told you not to say anything.”

Louis was sitting by himself, his ankles in the pool, swinging them back and forth. He slowly turned to look up at Liam, took off his sunglasses, his piercing blue eyes maneuvering over Liam’s anger twisted face, “What do you mean, mate?”

Liam rolled his eyes and shook his head in annoyance, “No, don’t  _do_  that. Don’t pull that shit with me. You told Zayn that you knew didn’t you?”

Louis stuttered, “Well, um, I-“

“Didn’t you?” Liam’s spiteful voice rose.

Louis flung his sunglasses down beside him and stood up; shaking off his wet legs and folding his pants back down. He sighed and looked into Liam’s questioning eyes, “No, okay, I didn’t. He asked me if I knew if there was something wrong with you. I can’t lie to him.”

“I told you not to say  _anything_ ,” Liam’s voice stung.

“Well, I won’t say anything to Niall and Harry,” Louis told him carefully. “But I can’t say the same for Zayn, he’s your boyfriend. He told me how he, uh, found you.”

“Why would he tell you that?” Liam asked softly, feeling utterly betrayed. His eyes flickering from Louis’ and shifting away from him slightly.

“Liam, it’s…it’s not like that,” Louis tried to explain, voice thick. “He was just…worried. He knew that I knew, alright.”

“How did he know that, Lou? Did you let something slip?” Liam’s voice was cracking; he had never felt more betrayed or confused.

“No, Li,” Louis sighed in desperation. “I would never tell him anything, why would I do that to you?”

“Because I’m not normal, alright?” Liam buried his fingers In his hair, biting his lip to keep from crying. “I know I’m not normal. I know I need help…but I can’t go back there, Lou. I just can’t.”

Louis reached over to Liam and tugged him into his arms. He allowed Liam to cry against his shoulder, tears leaking through the thin fabric. He didn’t mind, though, as he rubbed soft circles into Liam’s shaking back. He rested his chin on top of Liam’s head, supplying comfort the best way that he knew how. Liam slowly backed away, wiping away his tears swiftly. He was trying to cover up his act of defeat, but Louis saw right through him. He knew that underneath this façade that Liam was truly hurting. That he needed help and medical help, at that.

“But we won’t take you somewhere bad,” Louis shook his head. “We’ll take you somewhere good. You’ll really get help. It won’t be a –“

“No!” Liam shouted at him. “No, you don’t get it do you? I can’t do hospitals anymore.”

“Do you want to die?” Louis blurted angrily before he could stop himself. “Do you really want to do this to us? We’re trying to fucking help you!”

“Please,” Liam replied shakily. “I’m doing the best that I can…”

“Why won’t you let us help you? You can’t keep doing this, Liam, you’re gonna hurt yourself real bad one day, and how are we gonna get on without you?” Louis asked him, his voice was almost pleading.

Liam looked down at the ground, “See; now this just makes me feel even worse, even more selfish.”

“Liam, you are not selfish at all,” Louis quickly opposed. “You’re just a little unwell.”

And even as unwell as Liam was, and he knew he was, he couldn’t bring himself to go see a specialist. And the days passed and Liam thought that maybe he was getting better. He actually wanted to wake up, and he had a decent time with the rest of the boys, usually. It was almost as if all of his scars had been forgotten. It was almost as if everything had been erased and atoned. Even Zayn didn’t say anything to him, no more worried looks, or whispers with Louis. It was exactly how he wanted it, it was all back to normal.

Zayn wasn’t gentle anymore, either. He scraped his teeth across Liam’s collar bone, palming his hardness through his joggers. Liam gasped, and thrust his hips up to meet Zayn’s. And it was all so pleasurable, it was all so normal, and it felt so good. It just felt so good to rub up against Zayn, to feel his weight upon his. The hot heavy friction of their lips smashing together, almost hungrily. But there was always a sweet feeling to it, always something sincere behind it. And Liam felt Zayn’s hand snake up his shirt, sliding over the scars that he didn’t even know were there, fresh scars, scars that he thought were gone. He slowly began to slide up the fabric, lowering his mouth to kiss around Liam’s chest, when Liam stirred beneath him, trying to break away.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Zayn asked through heavy breaths, looking up at him.

“Erm, nothing,” Liam lied, squirming around beneath Zayn. “I just…I’m a little tired is all.”

“How?” Zayn was almost disbelieving. “You were just hot and ready a minute ago.”

“Yeah, but,” Liam stuttered, hoping his mouth would be faster than his brain. “We have a busy day tomorrow, probably not best to stay up fooling around.”

“What is there something you’re not telling me?” Zayn asked, suddenly accusing, standing up and pulling back on his own shirt.

Liam was almost taken aback, “I-what…Zayn, no. I just…I’m not ready.”

“You’re never ready,” Zayn muttered bitterly.

“Why is this an issue now?” Liam pressed, struggling to comprehend Zayn’s anger. “You’ve always respected my-“

“Yeah, well, you’re not being honest with me,” Zayn interrupted heatedly. “Is it someone else?”

“Zayn!” Liam choked out. “Are you accusing me of cheating?”

Zayn bit his lip, looking anxiously around the room and tapping his fingers on the table beside the bed, “No, I don’t…know. I just know that you’re not honest with me, Liam. And I thought we had that.”

“What do you mean?” Liam demanded. “I tell you every little aspect of my life.”

“Not this!” Zayn retorted contemptuously. “Why do I have to come in and find you bleeding out on the bathroom floor? Why is that something I have to see, why is that something I don’t already know? You want to end your life, and you can’t even tell your own  _boyfriend_?”

Liam clapped his hand to his mouth to stifle a sob, and he had always struggled with words, but this was worse. He never wanted for Zayn to have to find out like this, he had never wanted Zayn to find out at all. He didn’t want to have to be like this. He knew he was nuisance for other people and that he always had been. He could vividly remember his sister telling him this that he was nuisance.

“Mum’s unhappy,” Ruth told him one day over dinner, he was sixteen at the time, and Ruth was required to stay at home and ‘take care of the house’ while their parents were out. But they both knew that Ruth was actually meant to be taking care of Liam.

“What for?” Liam asked casually, grimacing at the lanky green beans that Ruth did a half-assed job of cooking.

“You really don’t know?” She raised her eyebrows at him

He scowled up at her, “No, how would I know?”

“It’s because of you, really,” she replied, cutting into her chicken, and he was appalled that she could be so unpremeditated.

“What did I do?”

“You’re wasting all her money,” Ruth retorted bluntly. “I’m going to uni in two months, leaving college, and all their money is going towards you and your stupid therapy visits and medicine.”

“I can’t help it,” Liam started.

“Oh, yes, you can,” she rolled her eyes. “You’re just thinking about it too much. I mean, you can control your thoughts. You’re just not trying hard enough.”

Liam bit his lip and looked away, struggling not to cry. He glanced down at his wrist at the faint white outlines that stared up at him. It was just the sort of thing he had expected Ruth to say, that it was his entire fault, that he could control it. And how he wished that he could, how he wished that he didn’t have to be such a burden upon his whole family. And how he wished that his suicide attempt had actually worked out, then Ruth could go to university happily and the whole family could get on with their lives.

“I wish it were that easy,” he told her trying to keep his voice steady.

“Yeah, but it is that easy,” Ruth insisted. “What did your girlfriend break up with your or something?”

“I didn’t even  _have_  a girlfriend this year.”

“Is that why?”

“Fuck you, Ruth,” Liam spat severely. “Really. Just fuck you.”

“See there you go again!” Ruth shouted at him as he exited the kitchen. “Being a little baby again!”

He could remember running up the stairs, legs threatening to give out beneath him. Tears clouding his vision and the heavy pounding of blood flowing to his head.  He slammed the bathroom door, frantically looking for something to hurt himself with. All the razors had been removed, and he could fill his heart pounding out of his chest. He found nothing, he searched frantically but there was nothing there at all. Why were they trying to stop him, when they really wanted him gone in the first place?

He came to a conclusion, and quickly tugged his belt out of the loop holes. He wasn’t even thinking as his body somehow moved from point a to point b. Tangling the belt around the pole of the shower curtain. He hardly remembered the feel of the soft faded leather pushing against the tender skin of his neck, cutting off his circulation first, his feet kicking out below him. He realized he wasn’t ready to go, not just yet, and he tried to yell out but his words were stuck in his throat. But who was going to listen to him anyway?

And it was a sick twist of fate when his body collapsed onto the shower floor. The door banged open and Ruth screamed and wailed, calling out his name repeatedly. Hysterically moving her hands every which way to tug the belt away from his bruised neck. She gasped and hiccupped that she loved him, she asked him why a lot, and he even wondered this to himself. Why?

He always knew that God had a plan for him, or so his family said, or really, so his pastor said. He was forced to go to church with his family, and it was never usually fun. Liam believed in God, he just didn’t think God really listened. He wondered how God could let all of this go on, and when he asked his pastor, he had a simple reply.

“God works in mysterious ways,” he replied slowly, his words tumbling out his mouth like smoke. “But everything he does is for a reason. “

But what was the reason for rape and death and suicide? Was it to teach all those ‘loose women’ a lesson, as his father called them. Was it to teach the ‘bad guys’ a lesson? To put them in jail to keep them away from society? Was it because He was just done with you, and decided He didn’t care anymore, so why should you care? And Liam wanted to ask God these questions. He wanted to ask why God had put him on this earth, when he didn’t even want to be on it anyway. He was only half-living, constantly in auto-pilot seeing life through someone else’s eyes. His life was measured by the therapy visits he had once every other week, the laps upon laps that he would run upon the smooth, asphalt of the track. Nothing was even right anymore.

“I didn’t mean it,” Ruth sobbed into his hair, her wet mouth smothering his face with kisses. “I love you, I love you, I love you. I love you so much, Li, please don’t leave me.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you like this,” Liam finally brought himself to say, his eyes meeting Zayn’s, who were red and his cheeks were streaked with tears. He patted at the spot on the bed beside him. “Come here.”

Zayn complied and crawled beside Liam, resting his head upon Liam’s chest. Liam wrapped his arms around Zayn’s shoulders, holding him close enough so Zayn could hear his heartbeat. The heart that would only speed up whenever Zayn was around and that was something that could never change.

“Why couldn’t you just tell me?” Zayn muttered weakly.

“I wish that I could have,” Liam admitted, tracing his thumb over Zayn’s shoulder. “I really, really do. But once people find out they don’t treat me the same. They just don’t. They act like I’m some kind of extinct animal or something, like I always have to be protected. They act like I’m glass, and that I have to be handled with care. But I just…I want to be treated like everyone else. I’m normal, I just have some issues.”

“You’re just depressed,” Zayn replied evenly, stretching his neck up and affectionately nipping Liam’s jaw. “And I can handle that.”

Liam looked down at him and grinned and shook his head, “No you can’t. People say they’re prepared, but they’re not.”

“Liam, I saw you bleeding out on the floor, and I still haven’t left you,” Zayn pointed out. “What on earth makes you think I would leave now?”

“I don’t want to be a burden,” Liam attested, his voice growing more morose as the memories became fresh in his mind again. “I’ve been a burden to everyone all my life, and I can’t do that to you too.”

“Babe, if I didn’t wanna deal with it, I wouldn’t,” Zayn reassured him, glancing up into his eyes. “It’s that simple.”

“But you kind of have to,” Liam maintained. “I mean, we’re in a band together. We’re always forced to be around each other, how could you get away?”

“Well, how do I put it?” Zayn had a bit of a teasing tone to his voice. “If I didn’t like you, I’d quit. I’d break up with you, and depending on the awkwardness of it all, I’d quit. It’s just that easy. I don’t just stick around people or things that I don’t like. I love you too much to leave you.”

“But people always say that,” Liam replied dejectedly.

Zayn grabbed Liam’s hand and squeezed it tight, “Hey,” he called softly. He sat up and looked directly into Liam’s eyes. Scanning his whole face, as if he were searching for something. He leaned in so unbearably close that Liam could detect the faint smell of mint on his breath and his aftershave. And it just smelled like home to him, inviting, warm. Zayn’s arms were practically angels by his side, and he never needed to ask if they were open, just how wide. He never needed to ask for a kiss or a hug, it seemed as if the timing was always so perfect, Zayn just knew when to touch. He knew Liam better than he knew himself sometimes.

“When I say it,” Zayn started, and he was firm, his grip tightening and his pupils dilating, playing a cat and mouse game with Liam’s own. “I absolutely mean it. You won’t get rid of me that easily, Payne. I can’t just forget about you, and if someone else can, they’re fucking crazy. They don’t love you like I love you. I want you to get better, and I know it’ll take some time, and I’m prepared for that. I’m prepared for you. I’ve never felt like I could be so open with someone before until I met you, I’m glad that someone like you found me.”

Liam gasped and pulled Zayn’s face towards his, his lips smashing into Zayn’s hurriedly, almost, and raw with emotion. He had never felt so beautiful before, only with Zayn. Zayn had a special way of making him feel warm; he had a way of making him feel needed. Zayn was everything Liam had ever hoped for, Zayn was everything that Liam had ever loved all rolled up into one person.

He pulled away, finally, heart pounding again, and his body felt like it was on fire. He finally got the courage to speak, his voice was hoarse by now, worn from crying, “It won’t be easy, y’know.”

Zayn pressed his forehead to Liam’s, and he let out a small grin, “I know. Nobody said it was easy, did they? We’re gonna work at this together. I just don’t want to lose you, Liam, I don’t think I could fucking stand it.”

“On a scale of 1-10 how important am I to you, would you say?” Liam asked, smirking to himself as Zayn let out a little laugh.

“A billion.”

But it certainly wasn’t easy, and Liam refused help, insisting over and over that was absolutely okay. He hadn’t cut himself in 2 weeks, and they were finally back home. It had seemed like ages since he’d even been there. His mother left him a note on the fridge, saying she’d been by to clean for him and that she loved him. He smiled as he saw it, he had missed his mother, and it felt like he had never even seen her in almost a lifetime. And at the bottom of the note he smiled even wider as it read

**p.s. zayn has a lot of stuff of his here, get married already! X**

And it was true; half of Zayn’s life was here, practically. Shoes and clothing usually strewn on Liam’s bedroom floor, and hair products all over the bathroom sink. There were little pieces of Zayn wherever Liam went in his flat. He could even still see the outline of Zayn’s body in his bed, where he slept most nights. Zayn was always around him, even if Liam couldn’t reach out and touch him, he always had a part of him somewhere.

But the happiness of course was never prolonged for more than a couple of weeks at most. Something always found a way to bring him crashing down again. As much as he loved touring, as much as he loved his job, he missed the mornings where he could just lie in bed with Zayn. Cuddle against his warm, sleeping body and stay there all day. Pressing burning hot kisses all along his tanned torso, moaning as loudly as he wanted when he could feel himself sliding down Zayn’s throat. And even though his family could drive him insane, he still could visit them as often as he liked.

But Liam didn’t cope well with change, he’d like to pretend he was one of those people that had, that could just go with the flow. But he had always had a routine, always. Ever since he was a little child, he was always on some type of schedule. His life had always revolved around the same things, and now it was like everything was so sudden. And he would love to admit that he was spontaneous and that he was ‘down for whatever’ but he always had to have a plan. If he didn’t have a plan, he really was lost. I guess that’s why they all called him Daddy Direction.

“You are a dad,” Harry teased him over dinner at a local bistro In some state that Liam couldn’t even remember the name of, he was so tired, and it all blurred together. “You worry about everything.”

“But see,” Liam countered back. “If I didn’t plan stuff out or worry, how would anything get done?”

“Things just happen on their own, really,” Harry shrugged, tossing a chip into his mouth. “If things are gonna work they do, if they don’t, they don’t.”

“Wise words from Harold, I see,” Louis chipped in, slumping down beside Harry.

“I mean, that’s the best advice I’ve ever heard,” Niall agreed mockingly, plopping on the other side of Liam. “History book material.”

“Fuck off the lot of you,” Harry sneered, squinting at them all.

“I don’t think anyone can beat Zayn’s motivational tweets, though,” Louis added with a smirk.

“What’s wrong with my tweets?” Zayn asked joining them, sitting beside Liam.

“Oh nothing,” Harry shook his head. “Aha!”

“You can fuck off,” Zayn retorted in mock anger. “Your tweets are pointless.”

“Hey, I think they’re pretty profound!” Harry protested.

“What were you guys talking about, anyway?” Zayn asked, helping himself to one of Harry’s chips.

“How Liam’s such a dad,” Harry replied, scowling at Zayn.

“He really is, actually,” Niall agreed. “And if he’s the dad, I guess that Zayn’s the mum.”

“Well, how am I the mum?” Zayn leaned over to look at Niall’s face. “I do bad things all the time.”

“You’re very feminine,” Louis teased.

“Speak for yourself,” Zayn retorted tersely.

“Look, if I didn’t push you guys so much, things would never get done,” Liam shrugged. “I mean, we wouldn’t be where we are now.”

“I mean, I guess your hair was a definite factor, though,” Louis replied smugly. “They see that poofy hair and the panties come off.”

“Zayn’s panties, you mean,” Harry added, his mouth still full of food.

“Fuck off you guys! I don’t wear panties,” Zayn laughed.

But it was situations like these that made Liam believe that maybe he did care and worry too much. That maybe the rest of the group just saw it as a bit of a joke that he struggled with letting things go that they could just move on from without a second thought. But he couldn’t please them all the time and he always had a constant weight of worry on his mind that he just could not seem to shake. Every little thing bothered him, and every little thing made him wonder about the outcomes that  _could_  or  _should_  have been.

And it was kind of funny and also kind of sad, but when he was cutting he was the happiest. And it literally accomplished nothing, but just causing himself the pain he thought he deserved, was good enough for him. And scars added upon scars and blood became thicker and more of a lush red. He was becoming more disgusting looking, and he pulled away quicker whenever Zayn touched him. And he knew Zayn was aching, he was aching, and he wanted to actually feel Zayn. And he didn’t so much care if their ‘first time’ was special or not, he was more terrified of the welts that rose all over his bodies and remained there, enjoying their stay.

And then just as if he knew he was being thought of, almost like a sixth sense in his mind, Zayn burst into the bathroom, heedless of knocking. His eyes widened in half fear, half disgust as he sunk down beside Liam. Quickly reaching for tissue paper and covering up the cut, clotting the blood that spilled freely from the wound.

“Liam, you need help,” Zayn said firmly, no longer gentle.

And Liam, knowing that at some point it would come to this closed his eyes, and said with a sense of clarity, “I know.”


	3. Chapter 3

 

The sickly pale walls of the hospital brought the cruel memories rushing back to Liam. His heart sank with each step on the dirt painted tiles. He looked around at the nurses dashing around in scrubs, looking in at old people who were too far gone to even care for themselves anymore. Liam decided that if he were ever at a position in his life where he couldn’t even dress himself, he just wanted to die. There was no point in living if you weren’t really living. Life was precious, that he knew, but when you couldn’t even think or care for yourself, what was the point in any of it?

He’d never forget his first meeting with his psychiatrist, and the way she’d study his behavior, every movement was judged and analyzed, extended far beyond what was really needed. He had to go alone, which he was alright with, but it was just a bit different, usually his mother always told him what to say. Whenever he’d speak a little too much she’d glance at him with pleading eyes, begging for him to censor himself. But now he was unsure of what to say to this woman, and she seemed friendly, he felt like he could trust her.

“You’re sure none of this will get back to my mum?” Liam asked her for the fifth time, chewing on the inside of his lip nervously.

She didn’t grow annoyed though, she just looked up at him and grinned and replied soothingly, “Liam, you don’t need to worry. We’re here to help, not hurt. This is  _your_  case, not your mother’s. She doesn’t need to know anything that’s being said. The only thing I will tell her, though, is if you’re hurting yourself or someone else.”

He described to her meticulously how he felt each and every day; he told her how he felt hollow. How it was just a struggle to get out of bed, and not just because he was tired. But simply because it was just the idea of having to live through another twenty-four hours of the same pain, the same plan, the same life. He told her how he felt incomplete, and how he felt like one of those old people that couldn’t even feed themselves. He told her how he felt like a burden upon his family, how he felt like a burden, upon, well,  _everyone_.

“Is that why you tried to kill yourself, Liam?” She asked pointedly.

And even though he knew that she knew the answer, he still slowly nodded his head. And he didn’t like it when people put it so bluntly. Yes, he knew it was wrong. He knew shouldn’t want to  _kill himself_. He knew that it was selfish and that people would miss him, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop the thoughts. Actually, he  _couldn’t_  stop the thoughts. It was almost as if his entire body and mind was screaming out against him.

“Your mother told me they didn’t treat you well at hospital,” she said with a hint of inquiry. “Is that true?”

Liam nodded solemnly, “Yeah, they basically called me selfish. They said that I was wrong for doing what I did. And that I was messed up.”

“You’re not messed up, Liam,” she told him sternly. “You’ve got a problem, and we’re going to fix it.”

She diagnosed him with depression, something that he had already pretty much guessed that he had, but to actually hear it come from a medical professional stung at his heart a little bit. She announced that she was putting him on medicine to help him get better, she sort of spoke to him like he was a child. And even though he felt like one he wasn’t. He was almost all grown-up now. He was fifteen years old and he already shaved for God’s sake. And then she called his mother in and talked to her in private, Liam sat alone outside, twiddling his thumbs and glancing up at the clock. His mother’s eyes were bright red when she exited the psychiatrist’s office, and Liam felt his stomach sink. And it seemed like everything was getting worse than better.

And here he was nearly four years later, little progress made, and he almost felt like his life was a cruel joke. Zayn took Liam’s hand, and comfortingly moved his thumb around Liam’s nimble, shaking fingers. Liam glanced over at him and gave him a half-hearted smile, and Zayn leaned in and kissed him on the side of the cheek. And he told him that he loved him, he told him things would be okay, and that something good would work for him. And Liam desperately wanted to believe him, but a part of him wanted to scream and yell that nothing would be okay. Nothing ever was okay, and that he just wanted life to pause.

And Liam went alone as he walked into the psychiatrist’s office again, and this was a different woman then he had before. She still looked kind, she was tan and had her short black hair tucked behind her ears. She looked proper and Liam looked her up and down before she smiled at him, motioning for him to sit down. He looked at the pink wallpaper, and it seemed so fake, and he looked at her in her pink cardigan, which also seemed to be made out of some type of fake, cheap imitation of silk. He didn’t know how to be real with people that were so fake. And the suffocating feeling came back again, pulling him under and failing to let him even kick to the surface.

“Hello, Liam,” she spoke in a high-pitched tone, she seemed kind enough. “How are you today?”

He looked around again before responding back flatly, “I’m alright, thanks.”

“Great,” she smiled and nodded.

There was an awkward pause before she stated, more to herself then to Liam, that she needed to get his files in order. And he saw his name on a manila folder, old medical records and photos of his cuts that much he could see before she briskly shut it and pulled out her clipboard. She asked him the typical questions, like what medicines he was taking, if he smoke or drank basic questions. Then she dug deeper and asked about his family and his early life, which he told her gradually. He tried to speak as casually as he could, and he was almost stunned at how normal his life sounded now that he were telling it to someone again from start to finish. And he realized that maybe it _was_  all in his head, maybe he didn’t really have a problem.

“Are you still taking your Zoloft?” She asked him, not bothering to look up at him, she remained writing steadily on her clipboard.

“No,” he answered.

She slowly lifted her head, “Why not?”

“I just…didn’t want to, I guess,” Liam shrugged. “I’m busy; I just don’t have the time, or the brain capacity, really, to remember that kind of stuff.”

She grew stern suddenly, “Liam, when you have a serious mental health disorder like depression, you can’t just not take your medicine. How long has it been?”

“About a year.”

“And how long have you been cutting for?” She asked, her eyes moving back to her paper, full of angry scribbles, Liam’s life.

“Uh,” he shut his eyes, struggling to think. “Maybe, four years, I think?”

“You’ve been cutting since you were fifteen?” She confirmed.

And he could remember his first time doing it, too, so vividly. He and his best friend, Andy Samuels, had been spending the weekend at his mother’s house alone. Andy was telling him this story of a girl, her name was Andrea, and everyone made fun of her. She dressed in all black and never spoke to anyone. He told Liam how he saw these scratch-type things upon her arm, and how he had asked her what they were. She refused to tell him, telling him to fuck off and mind his own business.

“She was cutting herself, obviously,” Liam snorted at Andy.

“Well no shit,” Andy snapped back. “I just…I didn’t know what to say.”

“I wonder if it hurts,” Liam wondered aloud.

“I want to try it, just to see if it does, or something,” Andy nodded. “Have any spare razors?”

And they each took one; Andy struggled with getting the razor to even break his skin. Now that Liam looked back on it, he realized how completely stupid they really were. Andy thought it was funny, though. He would just laugh and say they were ‘friendly masochists’. But for Liam, the blood trickled down his arm faster than he could blink. It wasn’t deep, and it healed in practically two days. It stung, though, once the blades entered the soft skin of his forearm.

Andy hissed and shook his arm, “ _Fuck_  that hurts.”

Liam winced and nodded in agreement. But he could remember thinking that it wasn’t  _really_  that bad, it stung a little, and it was sensitive to the touch, but it was a little relieving in a way. It was almost like his skin was crying, releasing the feelings and emotions that his eyes just couldn’t.

He failed to tell the psychiatrist though, he just told her he just had felt the impulse to do it one day, and just did it. He didn’t tell her about Andrea or Andy, he didn’t tell her about anyone. He knew that he was the one to blame for his issues and problems. Andy wasn’t the one that started this, he was.

She insisted on him taking his Zoloft, and he declined the offer to see a therapist. Liam was just too busy to see a therapist, and the appointments would be sporadic and pointless anyway. She handed him the prescription note, his name written in thick, black ink. He shuddered at the thought of taking medicine to make him healthy again. But Zayn walked close to him, hands woven tightly, and it’s as if he is reassuring him without words.

And Liam eyes the pills on his counter suspiciously, he was required to take one every morning, and it would take about three weeks to begin working again. Liam sighed at the thought. Three fucking weeks till he could actually, maybe, feel normal. There was always the possibility that it couldn’t work. Liam hoped that it would finally be his savior, that just maybe he could be better, he needed to get better.

And he was prepared that night, he didn’t quite know what for, but when Zayn’s sweeping, large hands held his back and pressed his weight against him, he felt shivers up and down his spine. Zayn was quick in removing his clothing, till just a pair of boxers hung lazily upon his hips. Liam was cautious, though, and of course Zayn could sense it.

“Li?” Zayn raised his head inquiringly and glanced up at Liam, his mouth resting just above the strings of Liam’s shorts. “Tell me, what is it?”

Liam took a deep, shaking breath, avoiding Zayn’s dark eyes, which were hurt and concerned. He’d always turned Zayn away. It was never for the reason Zayn thought it was. Liam wanted Zayn so unbelievably bad, to the point of his whole body aching. He was just ashamed of his body, ashamed of the scars that decorated almost every inch of him. Some faded quicker than others, but they’d always be there, they’d always serve their purpose. A reminder of just how idiotic Liam truly could be.

“I don’t know how to say it,” Liam muttered softly, eyes flickering to and from Zayn’s face.

“Just say what you need to say,” Zayn goaded gently. “I’m here for you, babe.”

“I’m embarrassed of myself,” Liam admitted, his voice still low and shaky, and he sounded so fragile. “My body…it’s not…it’s weird.”

“It is most certainly not,” Zayn furrowed his brow and pressed his lips to Liam’s momentarily. “What are you on about?”

“I have all these bloody scars,” Liam lamented, gesturing to his shirt that had ridden up, revealing the faint white welts.

“Listen,” Zayn took Liam’s cheeks firmly between his hands, rubbing the pads of his thumbs along Liam’s jawline. “No matter  _what_  you do, you will always be beautiful to me. You’re not just gonna make me stop loving you, I won’t let you…I won’t let myself. I need you and you need me. Come here.”

He rose up off the bed and still only clad in his boxers he held out his hand to Liam. Liam took it apprehensively and thoughts racing as Zayn led him towards the bathroom. Zayn flicked on the light and turned so he was facing the mirror, Liam had to laugh a little as Zayn ran his fingers through his hair, analyzing himself. He turned to face Liam, he smiled at him always reassuringly as he slowly slid the thing cotton t-shirt from Liam’s body. Liam didn’t even want to ask as Zayn was quickly pulling down Liam’s shorts, then his boxer briefs, and the rush of air made him gasp. He looked at Zayn questioningly, but Zayn just grinned and turned Liam by his shoulders facing the mirror.

“Look.”

That was all he said, and Liam did. He looked at Zayn’s hands carefully roaming his body. He softly kissed Liam along his neck and shoulders, faintly, so Liam could hardly even feel it. His soft feather touches could hardly be felt either, but Liam knew they were there. He could hardly look at his own reflection, but he willed himself because of Zayn. And Zayn’s fingers traced delicately around each scar etched into the skin of Liam’s thighs. And without even saying a word, Liam could tell what Zayn was trying to convey. He felt his entire body shaking with anticipation, some intense pulsing pleasure that he hadn’t felt in a while.

Zayn chuckled and said softly in Liam’s ear, “Relax, Payne, I’m trying to have an intimate moment with you.”

Liam chortled back, his lips brushing softly against Zayn’s. Zayn wrapped his arms around Liam’s torso, and rested his head upon his shoulder. They stood there looking at each other in the mirror. It was almost like they were really seeing each other for the first time. Zayn hadn’t ever really seen Liam like this before, completely vulnerable and a little fragile, begging to be broken. But this was when Zayn loved Liam most, and it’s not as if Liam wasn’t real, he was. Liam James Payne was the definition of real, and that’s what Zayn adored most about him. But he saw Liam’s eyes glisten with tears and his throat clenching, and he could see that Liam was feeble, and he absolutely loved it.

And it reminded Liam intensely of the first time he and Zayn had even kissed. It was snowing and the flakes collected in Liam’s ruffled hair. Zayn had laughed and shook them out of Liam’s hair with his hands. He could see Liam blush in the dark; Liam never wanted to look Zayn right in the eyes. It felt so good to have confirmation, just a simple look or touch felt so different. It felt so good to know someone felt the same. Niall had hinted to Liam that Zayn had liked him, but Liam refused to believe it.

“No, he’s not like that,” Liam shook his head, blushing and grinning like an absolute idiot.

Liam was convinced that he was the only gay one in the band, and he was quite okay with that. The boys never once thought of him any differently. But as Zayn would take girl after girl to his room and look at them and chase after them, Liam began to lose hope. He’d only told Niall, at this point, that he had feelings for Zayn.

“You should tell him,” Niall urged him. “I’m sure he feels the same.”

“Bullshit, he’s not…he’s not…it’s just not gonna happen,” Liam shook his head, wishing he could push the silly thoughts out of his head.

“If you don’t try you’ll never know,” Niall replied teasingly, his voice raising an octave towards the end of the sentence. “Besides, why waste your time if you don’t know if he feels the same way?”

“Because ignorance is bliss,” Liam stated firmly.

“I’m sure he’d be more than happy to hear from you,” Niall smirked, raising his eyebrows playfully.

Liam tossed Niall a confused look but Niall stood up abruptly and uttered a simple, “Think about it.” Before walking away, leaving Liam with his consuming thoughts.

And once it was out, it was almost as if the anchor that had sunken in Liam’s lungs was lifted. He no longer had to struggle to breathe whenever he was around Zayn, now he just had to struggle to  _think_. He always wanted to touch Zayn, to have some sort of contact. Want want want. He didn’t care about anything else, just a simple hand holding was fine with him. He loved it when they sat ever so close and their thighs would rub together, and Liam wondered if Zayn was as turned on as he was.

“Where the hell’d all this snow come from?” Zayn asked with a laugh, eyes wide and gazing up at the sky.

Liam managed to speak out, his voice was quick and shaky, and he sounded anxious, “You know why I brought you here, right?”

Zayn turned and looked at him, his eyes gleaming, he spoke coyly, shuffling his feet in the slow, “No..”

“I wanted to um,” Liam stepped forward, taking Zayn’s hand in his. “I wanted to give you something. Proper, this time, not just…messing around.”

“You gonna kiss me, Payne, or am I gonna have to wait around all night?”

This was enough for him. His lips molded instantly with Zayn’s. His hand cradled the back of Zayn’s neck and held his face to his own. He felt a heat rise in the pits of his stomach. And Zayn kissed him back just as much, lips parted slightly, tongue edging out carefully. He never wanted the moment to end; Liam never wanted to breathe if it might tear their lips apart.

It didn’t matter if his hair and clothes were soaked from standing in the snow storm for so long. He didn’t care if anyone saw them .He gave no thought to the pros or cons of their actions. The only thing he cared about was the boy holding him close and kissing him in the middle of the street. Nothing else mattered, nothing at all. It was a blissful moment that Liam had craved to go back to, the happiest night of his life. The night he was almost positive that he fell in love with Zayn.

“You’ve never really been in love, have you?” Liam had asked him one day, their hands locked as they sat on the couch watching television.

“No,” Zayn answered slowly. “I thought I was, but it wasn’t really…love.”

“What was it, then?” Liam pressed.

“Jesus, you’re worse than my mum,” Zayn cursed.

Liam nudged him and beamed at him, “Come on, and tell me.”

“It was just this stupid guy I met one summer is all,” Zayn shrugged and spoke nonchalantly. “We had sex, and I kind of thought, oh yeah, maybe he really loves me. He a lot older than me, and cuter, and I was stupid, I was only sixteen or so. But I got my heart broken; it was kind of like summer love from Grease or whatever? Just none of the cheesy flying away in a car at the end bullshit.”

“I haven’t either, to be honest,” Liam drawled. “Just…the occasional boyfriend here and there, but never any intense feelings.”

“I could see myself falling in love with you,” Zayn turned and look at him directly, and the look on his face was completely serious, his gaze never faltering. “Honestly.”

“I could too, I honestly do,” Liam retorted, squeezing Zayn’s hand.

“I don’t care what you look like,” Zayn spoke finally, his voice taking a moment to adjust after not speaking for so long. “You are so beautiful to me, it doesn’t matter what you do…what you look like. You are beautiful person on the inside and out, you’re one of the most selfless people I know. You’re absolutely incredible, Liam, I couldn’t manage without you by my side. I guess what I’m trying to say is, that…none of your scars could ever make me love you less. I’m not happy that you do it, but I’m always here to try and help you. You’re my boyfriend, you’re my best friend. I love you. I absolutely love you.”

His lips crashed hungrily against Zayn’s, legs widening, begging for Zayn. He couldn’t remember winding up on the bed from the bathroom but somehow they had managed. Somehow Zayn’s boxers had fallen off of his legs.  And it was the farthest they had ever gotten. He could feel Zayn’s swollen cock pressed stiffly against his thigh, and Zayn’s fervent hand pumping Liam’s shaft. And Liam begged in whimpers, he was too incoherent to speak, and he just knew that he wanted Zayn so  _so_  much. And it hadn’t occurred to him just exactly how Zayn had finally gotten pressed inside of him. He winced at the pain, Zayn kissed at his face tenderly, whispering words of encouragement. Liam wasn’t worried, the pain was as over as soon as it had begun and he was gasping, begging for the quickening of Zayn’s hips and movements.

And he almost wanted to kick himself at resisting Zayn for this long. Zayn knew just how to work him. Every defined thrust of his hips sent Liam even closer and closer to the edge. He moaned even more loudly as Zayn sucked at his neck, tweaking his nipples, and he rolled his hips to meet Zayn, and this sent them both into a crashing orgasm. Their strained gasps against each other’s chests, legs entwined and hair awry, they looked at each other and smiled.

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Zayn asked him with a playful grin.

“No, actually,” Liam spoke in barely a whisper. “It was perfect.”

“We’re going to get through this, Liam.” Zayn pulled in closer, holding Liam’s warm body against his own. “We can do this together.”

“As long as I have you,” Liam brushed Zayn’s cheek with his hand. “That’s all I need. I just wanna know if you’re prepared.

“You’ll always have me. Always. And I’m always prepared, I’ve always been prepared. You ought to come with an instruction manual, Liam.”

Liam laughed at this and brought his face close to Zayn’s, he could feel the older boy’s long lashes fluttering against his cheeks, the soft breathing settling him to sleep. And things were only going up from here, they could only go up from here. He had Zayn now, he was prepared. 

 


End file.
